She Never Misses (Until She Does)
by swordfightingprincess
Summary: Her life revolved around the targets with knives buried in the centres. Her life revolved around the games she vowed to win. Until one day, something happened that broke her.


**Please enjoy this lovely little story that I wrote in a highly caffeinated haze and actually liked. Welcome to my Victor!Clove Au. **

**All rights go to Suzanne Collins. :)**

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Part One: Her Knives Always Find Their Mark

The last time Clove ever missed her target was when she was eight. She was learning to perfect her knife throwing skills and she hit just outside the centre. Her mother shook her head in disappointment, and Clove vowed that it would never happen again.

She quickly became one of the best at the academy because of this. Future tributes had to be perfect. Future tributes couldn't miss, ever. So she shut down, learned not to feel, because if she felt even the slightest bit of remorse, then she wouldn't be able to hit her target.

By the time she was fourteen, her knives had become the biggest part of her. There was barely a minute when she didn't have one in her hand, ready to throw at any moment. It was at this time that she was praised for her ruthlessness. That should have made her happy but she rarely felt anything. It didn't matter how many times she hit a target, how many times she broke her bones, how many times Cato kissed her, the only thing she felt was a grim satisfaction. The way she'd been trained.

When she was fifteen she volunteered. So did Cato. What she felt when she saw him run up on stage was the first real thing she'd felt in years. _I'm going to have to kill him._ Because he was hers to kill. He was the one who'd kissed her and touched her and broke her bones. His blades and hands had left more scars on her than everyone else combined. She'd given him scars too, marks that identified him as _hers._ To kill.

In the arena she felt the second rush of feeling. The feel of seeing her knives hit targets that fell and bled and died. The copper taste of her own blood in her mouth and the brilliant red of other people's blood on her hands. She regretted not being able to kill Fire Girl, but the joy of the bloodbath nearly made up for it. Every time she heard a canon she counted the tributes that were left and smiled. Smiled because she was one death closer to the end. Now she let herself feel two emotions: grim pride and a twisted joy.

Clove didn't care if her odds had been lower than Cato's. Her kills were often bloodier, more ruthless. She didn't care if Fire Girl managed to kill Glimmer, and Marvel, because they were just two more bodies. They were never strong enough to make it anyway. She did care what the cameras caught, and she made sure that she only let Cato kiss her and touch her when the cameras were sure to be on the damned 'star-crossed lovers'. It was mostly for his benefit anyway. She might like it if she hadn't hardened herself beyond reason so many years ago. It might be useless, but she kisses him back. Just so he knows who's left more scars. _He's hers to kill._

She promises she'll be fast. Get their bag and get out, kill anyone she can but her life is most important. So she goes, leaving Cato to stalk around the outside looking for any tributes who try to escape our watch. Stars align when she gets Fire Girl within her grasp and manages to wrestle the girl to the ground. Her body aches to drag out the kill, to make her feel all the pain she deserves, but her mind tells her to get it done. So she cuts her throat, but not before leaving an awful C-shaped scar. Clove never was one for sentimentality, but it'll be nice to see Fire Girl die with a memory of Clove on her face. Let her stupid sister know what she almost went up against. Clove watches the blood spill from Katniss' face and stain the grass around her and laughs. She laughs but there's nothing behind it, just a hollow, bitter laugh that she knows will make her look all the more cynical.

A scream splits the air, a pained shout that Clove's heard before, but never at this magnitude. She spins around to see the monstrous boy from Eleven, and Cato fighting not far behind her. She can almost make out what Eleven is yelling in Cato's face.

"Did she kill her?"

"No," there's too much pain in Cato's voice. "She didn't. One did."

Whether that's true or not, Clove doesn't care. Eleven moves slightly and she can see the extent of Cato's wounds. Blood gushes from a slash on his face and his arm is bent wildly out of shape. He got Eleven pretty good too, but there's no contest of who will be dead first if she doesn't do anything. There's no thinking involved, just a practised motion as a knife flies from her fingers and buries itself in Eleven's back. _Cato's mine to kill. Not yours, mine. _

He's lost so much blood already, but Clove begs him to hold on. _It's not supposed to end like this. I need to kill you in a big fight. You need to die last dammit._ His eyes have never looked more blue than when they're surrounded by blood. She hates him for having such blue eyes.

"Stay with me, come on, you don't get to die yet."

"End it."

"What?" she knew exactly what he'd said.

"Kill me Clove. I'm gonna die soon, just end it please." Cato chokes the last word out, voice thick with pain.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. He wasn't supposed to be this weak. He was _Cato _for fuck's sake he wasn't supposed to beg for death.

"Use your knife. Please."

It's a damn good thing she has no qualms about killing, because there is no part of her that wants to kill Cato like this, but also no part of her that thinks she can't do it. So she picks up her favourite blade, looks into his stupid blue eyes, and brings it down straight into his heart.

_She knew she'd kill him. She knew that his death belonged to her, but she wasn't sure she liked how it happened. _

In the end the last kill doesn't even belong to her. She hunts down the girl from five, killing her with a well aimed knife to the heart. Clove's not sure how she survived this long, but her cannon fires and it no longer matters. She never gets to Loverboy, but his injuries must kill him, and since Fire Girl never got their bag from the feast, it was inevitable. Shame really, how the last kill almost belonged to Cato, since it was him that injured Loverboy. If only she'd found him earlier. The game maker's voice announcing her the winner of the 74th Hunger Games never sounded so good in her ears.

_Her name had never sounded as sweet as it did when she knew she'd won._

She smiles her way through the interviews and other formalities, but she feels none of what she says she does. The pretty pink dress is too soft, too delicate. She would have preferred red, like the blood she's so proud to have spilt. The train ride back to her district couldn't come fast enough. Enobaria's continued praises fall on deaf ears, because Clove's already over the celebration. All she wants to do is be alone to think about what she's just done and everything she just accomplished.

Part Two: But When They Don't It Breaks Her

Clove enjoyed being a victor for the first few months. She liked the shocked looks and constant praise. She liked walking into the training center and being greeted with stares of admiration and envy. She liked knowing she was still the best Two had. She threw her knives and helped other people throw knives. She told countless kids that her skill with knives had come from dedicating her life to them, that being a victor hadn't been a casual interest, but a lifelong investment. She didn't like answering questions asking if she felt remorse for her kills. She'd been numb for years, none of the people she'd killed had made any sort of impact. She still couldn't feel, and she still never missed.

She never missed until after the Victory Tour. She was training, when in front of everyone, she threw her knife. It was with the same focus and precision that she always had, but when it struck the target, it struck very clearly off centre. For the first time in almost eight years, Clove Kentwell knife prodigy, missed her target.

The miss made her heart stop and her blood run cold for a second. She walked slowly up to the target and stared, stared at the blade that was embedded far enough from the target to make Clove want to scream. She couldn't scream though, her voice was stuck in her throat.

_Nononononononono. Impossible. _

She was starting to shake, chills running through her body. Trying to maintain some measure of control, Clove exited the training centre as fast as she could. The moment she was beyond the doors, she broke out into a sprint, running as fast as she could all the way to her house. The moment the door slammed behind her Clove sank to her knees, memories of every time someone called her the Girl Who Never Missed running through her head.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

Clove has nightmares that night. She hadn't had any after the games and now they came, horrible ones that leave her screaming night after night. The boy from Eleven (who she now knows was named Thresh) leaves Cato for dead and comes at her with his sharp, bloody rock, his huge form bearing down on her smashing the rock against her head, the impact waking her up. Glimmer from One claws at her face with her sharp nails and Clove wakes up smelling her perfume. Fire Girl's face slashed and bloodied haunts her dreams, her voice, begging Clove to have mercy, so she could go home to her sister. Every night she wakes up crying in terror, and sometimes the dreams leave her unable to scream.

During the days she's left shaken. She stays inside usually, exhausted but not wanting to close her eyes. She skipped out on training for a week and then didn't want to face the speculation from the other trainers. She's tried to throw her knives at home, but the more she tries the more she misses. Each time the blade misses its intended target it feels like a fresh wound. Eight years of perfection and practice only to leave her spiralling further downward.

Sometimes she misses Cato. Maybe not him in particular, just the feeling. She missed his touch, his lips, the way his body fit next to hers. She missed fighting with him even if it ended in him with a black eye shoving her up against a wall. Especially when it ended like that. The more she thinks about him the more he comes into her nightmares. Some nights he'll be dying begging her to help him, but she kills him anyway. Sometimes he'll be the one with the knife. Sometimes it's just his face in the sky, staring down at her. Those nights are the worst, because she almost wakes up thinking that he'll be there, that he'll come back until she remembers that she killed him and that he and his stupid smirk are gone forever. _You wanted to kill him._

Weeks pass and Clove tries to go back to the training centre. She really tries, but rumours start when people realise that she's staying away from the knives. It kills her really, to stay away. She feels naked without her blades, but they no longer seem to give her the power they used too. Clove has never felt this alone. Enobaria tries to talk to her, but Clove pretends to not be home whenever she shows up. She feels hollow and empty and so fucking scared. She gets a note from her mentor telling her that they have to meet sometime before the Quarter Quell to discuss mentoring. At the thought of being a mentor Clove wants to throw up. She dreams that night that she refused to be a mentor, so Enobaria broke her door down and was about to rip her throat out with her sharpened teeth. At the last minute she disappeared, only to be replaced with Cato, sword in hand blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. She woke up screaming before he could stab her. _You killed him, he's gone. But what if that's the problem?_

Clove wants to die. She spends her nights being haunted by the arena, and her days haunted by her own mind. Everything she sees looks like someone coming to kill her, and every sound is _him. _She'll see Marvel in every tall guy she sees, and smell Glimmer every time she smells heavy perfume floating through the air, and thinking of them makes her scream with terror. Bows and arrows make her think of Katniss and Loverboy and that makes her entire body go cold. Worst of all is every time she thinks she hears Cato's voice, every time she thinks she sees him on the street. She hates going to sleep, because when she closes her eyes the nightmares come, and she hates waking up because every minute she's surrounded by the arena, everything reminds her of it. She worked for years to get in control of her life and her emotions, and now everything she does makes her unravel. She's surrounded by demons and most of them are of her own making. The more tears that fall from her eyes, the more times she wakes up screaming, the more times she realises that she's completely one hundred percent alone, the less she wants to wake up the next day and do it all again. _Maybe dying would be easier._

_The girl from Four did it too. They both went mad._ The whispers follow her every time she leaves her house. When Clove first got back to Two, people looked at her with admiration and whispered with envy. Now they thought she was mad. Maybe she should move to Four and find this so called 'mad girl'. _But you haven't gone mad. You're just a little lost._ Clove makes a million excuses, but she knows that she's further gone than Annie Cresta. People will look in her windows and see her tears, see her weakness. So she breaks the glass and nails boards in place. Finally her house is as dark as her head. _Why are you still alive crazy girl. No amount of crying and breaking and making things darker will bring him back._

For the third Quarter Quell, only twelve year old's can be reaped. Enobaria literally drags her out to watch the reaping, where two little kids, neither of whom will be prepared enough to go into an arena, will be chosen from the huge glass bowls and shipped off to the Capitol. Clove doesn't know the girl, but when the escort draws the name for the boys, Clove's stomach lurches.

"Niko Hadley!" he's small and lacking in muscle, but his features are a miniature version of his older brother's. For a second all she could see was Cato standing on stage wearing a ghost of his signature smirk. Then reality set in and she realised what was happening.

_Fuck,fuck,fuck,lips,hands,teeth,eyes,swords,ohshit,blood_,"kill me Clove",_scars,bruises,lips,knives,_"use the knife"_,goddamnit,hands,blood,fuckfuckfuck,_"kill me Clove"_,canon, sky,smirk,Cato,Clove,target,knife,dead,dead,tears,weak,strong,fast,slow,"_I volunteer!",_off,on,off,on,_"Use the knife","She never misses"_,Cato,fuckfuckfuck,lips,scars,blood,toomuchblood,_he's mine to kill_. _

Someone screamed. Was it her? Clove took off running, full on sprinting back towards the Village, to her boarded up house full of ghosts. She couldn't tell what was real, what was happening, until she felt her knees hit the floor. Tears stained her cheeks and sobs choked her throat. Clove rocked back and forth, wishing with her whole heart that there was someone alive in there with her. Someone to hold her and stop the sobs and the shaking and to make things okay again. From somewhere deep in her mind, Cato emerged. In the shady place between real and fake where Clove lived, he put his arms around her and whispered condolences. She stayed there, choking on tears being held by the ghost that she desperately needed to be alive. It might have been hours, or days or weeks. The games could be over or barely started, but she wouldn't know. Clove would hold on to Cato until she was okay. _You'll never be okay._ She doesn't move from her spot on the floor, screams ripping through her body every time she got too close to sleep. Maybe it just hurt too much to be awake.

On the day the games ended someone broke down Clove's door, to tell her that Enobaria wanted to see her. Still in her Reaping clothes, eyes wild, Clove was crumpled on the floor, barely conscious, lost in her mind. The moment the outside light hit her Cato disappeared from her memory. Her source of comfort, the only thing keeping her from tearing herself to pieces, faded from her mind. All because of the shape in the doorway.

Instinct seized her entire body and Clove grabbed the nearest weapon, a knife, and threw it with everything she had. The figure in the doorway crumpled, knife in their heart. Shaking, Clove made her way over to the body and pulled the knife out of the body. Upon seeing who it was Clove screamed. Lying, dead, with a gaping wound in his chest, was Cato's old mentor, a former victor, Brutus. The first time in months that Clove that thrown straight, she'd killed one of the few people who mattered to Cato. _There you go, you fucked up again, worthless bitch._ Tears leaked from Clove's eyes, as she wished, yet again, that she was dead. _Maybe you should have let Fire Girl go. Maybe you should have let her win. Since you obviously don't want this. _She let the knife fall from her hands, and clatter to the ground. Screams flooded her mind, hers or other people's she'd never know. The lines between real and memory blurred again.

Maybe they were right, maybe she'd never be completely sane again. It would be years before she would pull herself out of her broken mind again.

When the bombs fell Clove didn't run. She stood, under the smoke filled sky with tear stained cheeks, knife in hand and screamed. She screamed _at _the sky, at the fire, at the people running. She screamed _for_ herself, for Brutus, for Glimmer and Marvel, for Thresh and Fire Girl and Loverboy, for Enobaria who tried her damn best, and for Niko Hadley who never made it home. She screamed for Cato who she was pretty sure she had loved, and definitely loved now that he was dead. She screamed for the blood on her hands and the scars on her skin. She screamed for Cato's lips on hers and her fingers raking up and down his back. She screamed for the people she'd tried to love and had still hurt. It took the rest of her self-control not to let the blade in her hand kill her first.

Clove screamed with her whole soul. When the bomb destroyed the Victors Village and ended her life, she'd already forgotten herself.


End file.
